Friends Don't Let Friends Drunk Dial
by Collegekid2006
Summary: When Shawn gets a latenight drunk phonecall from Lassie, they're both in for more than just a hangover.LassieShawn whumpage.
1. Chapter 1

"Spencer?"

Shawn groaned, rolling over and searching his floor for the alarm clock he knew was around somewhere.

He already recognized the voice, and it was the last voice in the world he wanted to be awakened by.

"Lassie?" He growled. "Why are you calling me at..."

He paused until he found the clock and put it back on his nightstand.

"…Three o'clock in the morning?"

"I did it, Spencer. I cracked the case. And I did it before you."

There weren't any pauses in Lassiter's sentences, and the words seemed to slur together into one long run-on syllable.

Shawn groaned again.

"Why are you _drunk_ and calling me at three o'clock in the morning?" He amended.

"Because I did it, Spencer. I beat you."

"Beat me how?" Shawn yawned, sitting up and stretching lazily.

"I cracked the case!" Lassiter said again, louder and more emphatically this time. Shawn could almost see him, holding the phone inches in front of his face and yelling into the mouthpiece.

"What case?"

"_The_ case! The bank robberies! I know how they did it!"

"Good for you, Lassie. Can I give you your gold star tomorrow? I'll put it up on the chart right next to 'Didn't Have an Accident' and 'Didn't Eat the Paste at Art Time'. Okay?"  
"Very funny, Spencer."

The slurring was getting worse now. Shawn could hear the bottle sloshing, Lassiter taking another drink.

Probably scotch.

He sighed.

"Look. I'm really happy you _think_ you beat me…"

"I did, Spencer. I did beat you. I beat you good."

Shawn could barely understand what he was saying now, but he managed to get the gist of it.

"Fine. You beat me. Can I go back to sleep now?"

"No. I want you to hear this."

"Hear _what_?"

"I'm here."

"_Where_?"

"Where." Lassiter snorted. "You don't even know where I am. You're a psychic, aren't you? Shouldn't you know where I am?"

"It doesn't work like that…"

"Of course not…I'm at the warehouse, Spencer. The _warehouse_. Where else would I be?"

"The warehouse? The one where they found the John Doe this morning?"

"Is there another warehouse?"

"Several hundred, actually."

Lassiter laughed, low and gravelly.

"But this is the one that solved the robberies. This is the one that matters."

Suddenly, Shawn heard the almost-deafening sound of shattering glass.

"Lassie! What happened?" He demanded, sounding more concerned than he actually meant to.

"I told you. I'm here. They didn't leave the door unlocked for me. Bastards."

"You _broke_ in?" Shawn shouted, jumping to his feet and searching the floor for his shirt.

"How else am I going to prove I beat you? They could have left it unlocked…"

"You don't have a warrant!"

"I don't need one. I have causeable prob."

"Probable cause," Shawn corrected.

"Sure. That….Aww, crap."

"What?"

Shawn found his shirt. He quickly dropped the phone and pulled it over his head, then picked it back up again.

"…just cut myself on the damn glass…" Lassiter was saying on the other end.

"Stay there!" Shawn ordered. "I'm going to get you back home before you get arrested for breaking and entering."

"It's not breaking and entering. I have a key."

"You broke the window."

"My key's a rock…. What the hell?"

Shawn was pulling on a sneaker, but the sudden change in Lassiter's tone made him stop.

Something was wrong.

"What?" He asked.

"…damndest thing…" Lassiter mumbled.

"What?"

"Blood…"

"You cut yourself."

"No…blood on the wall…what the hell?"

There was silence on the line for a few moments.

Shawn heard the dull thud of a heavy glass bottle being dropped on a cement floor.

"Lassie…what is it?"

There was no answer.

"Lassie?"

"Hey!" Lassiter shouted.

The exclamation was immediately followed by a groan and a loud clatter, like a cell phone falling to the ground.

"LASSIE!"

There was another groan, and the line went dead.


	2. Chapter 2

As Lassiter turned around, he saw the bottle of scotch he had dropped on the floor coming at his face.

"Hey!"

He didn't have time to react apart from the one feeble yell.

The bottle connected with his skull, knocking him off his already unsteady feet to the floor.

He groaned, too dizzy or drunk or both to even roll over to avoid getting hit again. He stared up at the ceiling, the world quickly fading into darkness.

He could see the man who was holding the bottle standing over him, bringing it down again. He tried to put his arms up to block the second blow, but this one wasn't aimed at his head.

There was a sudden, earth-shattering pain in his knee. As if his kneecap had just exploded into a thousand tiny shards.

He groaned again, his body involuntarily coiling, wondering why the hell this guy would go after his knee...

He didn't even try to stop the third blow, which once again connected with his skull and finally sent him spiraling into unconsciousness.

He didn't know how much later he came to, but it couldn't have been too long.

A few minutes, probably.

But it was enough.

He heard the voices; two of them, both low and urgent, even before he opened his eyes.

"What the hell were you thinking?" One of them was asking.

Lassiter lay completely still, listening. Not that he could have moved even if he wanted to. His busted kneecap was throbbing, and though he couldn't see anything in the near pitch-black, he was sure it had swollen to the size of a melon.

_That's why…_he realized suddenly.

_…To make sure I don't go anywhere…I can't even move it…_

"He's a cop." The other voice answered.

But where were the voices coming from?

Lassiter tried to peer into the darkness. He was still lying on a floor of some kind, but it wasn't the cool cement of the warehouse.

It felt more like a car floor.

No…a van.

He could feel the vibration of an idling engine beneath him. If he listened past the voices, coming from what he assumed was the front seat, he could even hear its quiet purr.

But he was more interested in the voices.

"Exactly!" The first voice snapped. "Do you know what they do to cop killers?"

"We didn't kill him…yet."

The second voice was definitely in charge. He sounded cool, in control.

The first voice was nervous, almost frantic.

"You're gonna!" The first voice retorted.

"Maybe…"

"Oh, man…" The first voice groaned. "You said no one was gonna get hurt!"

"I lied."

"You can't kill a cop, too!"

"He shouldn't have been poking his nose in our business. It's his own fault. We just have to figure out where to bury him…we can't put him with the others…it won't take them long to come looking for a cop. We have to make sure they can't pin it on us."

There was a long silence.

Then, the first voice spoke again.

"He was talking to someone on the phone…"

"I know."

"Did he tell them where he was?"

"Yeah."

The van started to move. Lassiter winced as another sharp pain shot through his knee.

"Then the cops might already be on their way!"

"I doubt it. At most, _a_ cop might be on their way. Whoever he was talking to."

"What if they are?"

Lassiter could almost hear the indifferent shrug in the second voice.

"Then, we'll kill two."


	3. Chapter 3

"Jules, get up."

She blinked at her phone, still not fully awake.

Why was it giving her orders…?

And why did that voice sound so familiar…?

"Shawn?"

"Yeah. Get up."

He sounded impatient, on-edge.

Something was wrong.

She dropped her feet over the edge of her bed into her slippers, suddenly awake.

"What's up?"

"You were at the warehouse scene today, right?" He asked, either not hearing her question or choosing to ignore it.

"The John Doe? Sure. Why?"

"Meet me over there."

"_Now?_"

"Yeah…Your car has a radio in it, right?"

"AM and FM…" She answered slowly, growing more confused by the second.

"No," Shawn sighed shortly. "Your police radio, Jules."

"Oh. Yeah….do I need it?"

"I don't know…but bring your gun, too. Just in case. I'll meet you there."

"Are you going to tell me what--"

"There's no time. I'll tell you when you get there."

Her jacket was already on and she was heading out the door.

"I'm on my way."

Her mind was racing as she drove to the warehouse, trying to figure out what could possibly be wrong…

What could possibly make Shawn's voice sound like that…

When she arrived, Shawn wasn't there.

She sat in her car for ten minutes outside the yellow police tape, waiting for him.

When he didn't show, she finally grabbed her flashlight and ducked under the tape, not really sure why even as she did it. She knew she wouldn't be able to get into the warehouse. They had locked it down that afternoon after the forensics team had finished with the John Doe murder scene.

But if Shawn told her to meet him here, there had to be something inside…

She gasped as the flashlight beam fell across the broken window, smeared with still-congealing blood.

"Shawn?" She called, stepping carefully through the glass into the dark warehouse.

She moved forward cautiously, her flashlight constantly scanning the floor in front of her.

Her footsteps echoed off the walls and ceiling as she walked through the large, empty room.

"Shawn?"

Suddenly, she stepped on something.

Something…almost crunchy under her sneakers…

She quickly pointed the flashlight at her feet.

It was a broken bottle of some kind.

She knelt next to it, examining the red-tinted shards.

The label said it was scotch, but her nose had already told her that much.

_Where did it come from?_

_It wasn't here this afternoon…_

She stood up again and took another step, but stopped as her flashlight fell across a small object on the floor just a foot or so away from the broken bottle.

Something about it looked vaguely familiar…

She quickly picked it up.

It was a green ballpoint pen.

She turned it over in her hand, but she already knew she recognized it.

It was one of the personalized pens she had given her partner for Christmas because he was always complaining about people around the station stealing his pens.

Sure enough, as she rolled it over in her fingers, the words **Detective Carlton Lassiter** appeared, etched into the side in silver lettering.

_But what the heck is it doing here…?_

She dropped it back on the ground where she had found it and stood up again.

"Carlton?" She called into the darkness. "Shawn? Hello?"

There was no answer.

"Shawn!"

She quickly made her way back to the broken window and stepped back through it into the cool night air.

She went back to her car and sat behind the steering wheel for another five minutes or so, trying to process everything.

Trying to figure out what to do next.

Shawn still didn't come. She called him twice, both on his cell phone and at home, but there was no answer.

She even tried calling her partner.

No answer.

_What the heck is going on?_

Finally, she picked up her radio.

"This is 4-Adam-7." She spoke into it.

"4-Adam-7 go." The response crackled back a moment later.

"I need a unit at the warehouse on Crenshaw for a possible 10-86…" She said slowly, then added a second later, " And call the Chief at home. She's going to want to come down here for this."


	4. Chapter 4

Shawn parked his bike a few blocks away from the warehouse.

Part of him was convinced that Lassie had just tripped over his own feet and knocked himself out in a drunken stupor.

But then there was this other part…

The part that kept remembering one of the last things Lassie had said…

_"No…blood on the wall…what the hell…?" _

If something _had_ happened…if someone else was there…the last thing Shawn wanted to do was lose his element of surprise by pulling up on a loud motorcycle.

But everything outside the warehouse seemed quiet as he approached on foot.

He didn't wait for Juliet to show up before climbing through the broken window, half expecting to trip over Lassie's unconscious…possibly even dead…body.

But the warehouse was empty.

Empty and completely silent.

He stopped when he stepped on the broken bottle, lying inches away from a smashed cell phone. He pocketed the phone absently, looking around at the walls.

Only one of them was close enough for Lassie to have been able to see if he had been standing there when he called Shawn; the one directly across the warehouse from the broken window.

_He must have been looking at that wall over there…they came at him from behind, followed him in through the window most likely…but there's no blood on that wall…he said there was blood on the wall… _

He approached it slowly, peering into the dark, wishing somewhere in the back of his mind he had thought to bring a flashlight.

_At least, I can't see any blood…maybe it's there… _

He ran his fingers over the large stones, as if trying to read Braille.

_It's like one of those damn riddles my dad used to make me solve… _

_…"a man sees blood on a wall…twenty minutes later, there's no blood…_

_There's no sign it's been cleaned…it's not wet, so it hasn't been washed…no one's come in or out since… _

_…what happened to the blood…?...and what happened to Lassie…?" _

The mortar between two of the stones at the base of the wall crumbled as his fingers grazed it.

One of the stones moved, ever so slightly at his touch.

_Hello! What's this? _

He quickly worked the stone, managing to pull it loose from the wall in only a few minutes. The stone to the left of it also came out, even easier than the first.

On the backside of the stones, Shawn could feel something wet and slimy.

_Blood…? _

_Maybe…_

Shawn quickly wiped his hand on his jeans and without a second thought plunged his arm into the hole in the wall. His knuckles hit against another layer of stone, but as he followed it down he felt it turn to cool, hard dirt.

_A hole…? _

_A tunnel, maybe…? _

_Is this how they dragged Lassie out of here? _

He sighed, knowing what he had to do.

_…what the hell… _

It was a tight squeeze, but he managed to slowly wriggle through the hole, jumping down into the tunnel feet-first.

If it was possible, it was actually darker in the tunnel than it had been in the warehouse, but it was surprisingly roomy. He could even stand up, only occasionally scraping the top of his head against the ceiling as he slowly moved forward, feeling his way along the dirt wall.

_Where does it go? _

_Is it just a dead end? _

Suddenly, he heard something…

Footsteps, coming from the other direction.

He froze, his heart beginning to pound.

For a brief moment, he considered trying to make a break back to the warehouse, but in the dark he knew he'd never make it.

It was too late, anyway.

There was a blinding light in his eyes now, a voice shouting at him.

"Who's there?"  
He didn't even think about answering, not that the man looming in front of him was looking for an answer.

Shawn's eyes started to adjust to the light, just in time to see the flash of a screwdriver in the man's hand.

It all happened so quickly after that.

He came at Shawn, wielding the screwdriver. Shawn tried to step aside, but the tunnel was too narrow. He was suddenly pinned against the wall, one of the man's hands closing around his throat as the other plunged the screwdriver into his stomach. He felt him pull it out viciously, then stab it in again, inches away from the first wound.

The hand around his throat slowly released as the man stepped back. Shawn felt himself sliding down the wall, collapsing into a heap on the tunnel floor. He tried to stand up again, but he couldn't.

He was starting to black out. He could feel the blood pooling around him, soaking through his shirt and pants.

The man had run off, but not in the direction he had come from.

He was running back towards the warehouse.

_Jules! _

Shawn listened helplessly, trying to summon the strength to even inch his way down the tunnel.

But he couldn't...

He just couldn't.

A few moments later, he heard a scraping sound…like stones being moved across a cement floor…

_He's sealing me in…_Shawn thought, a sudden wave of dizziness overtaking him.

He could hear the footsteps coming back down the tunnel towards him, silently walking past him.

Shawn tried feebly to reach out and grab the foot as it stepped over him, but to no avail.

_He sealed me in… _

_They won't find me down here… _

_No one knows I'm down here… _


	5. Chapter 5

"Are you insane?"

Lassiter was still holding his breath, still remaining silent in the back of the van, which had once again pulled to a stop.

They…whoever the hell _they_ were…were arguing again about something.

That seemed to be all they did, Lassiter couldn't help but notice.

Argue.

Bicker.

It was starting to give him a worse headache than the scotch and his mild concussion.

Combined.

_I'll be damned if I'm going let these two morons kill me…_

"We don't have a choice," the second voice answered shortly. "We have to get it cleared out before the cops start crawling all over. _Again_."

"That wasn't _my _fault!" The first voice sounded indignant.

"_You_ said no one used the warehouse anymore."

"No one does!"

"Then they shouldn't have found Dylan so soon. We should've had days to figure everything out."

"_You_ shouldn't have left him there!" The first voice snapped back.

"It doesn't matter now. If you're right…_this_ time…and the cops are on their way, they're going to go over every inch of that place, even more than before. It's only a matter of time until they find the tunnel…and the money. We have to get it cleared out tonight. Now."

"But what about _him_?"

"Who? The cop? He's out. He's not going anywhere." The second voice laughed. "But you stay here just to make sure. If he so much as breathes funny, shoot him. Or just shoot him for the hell of it now. What do I care? It'll save us time."

There was the sound of a car door opening, then slamming shut again.

Lassiter could hear heavy footsteps and snapping twigs, coming closer and then quickly fading away again.

He waited until he was sure the footsteps were gone, then silently inched towards what he assumed had to be the back of the van, in the opposite direction than the voices had been coming from.

Every move he made was agony as his knee rasped the rough van floor, but he bit his lip against the groans until his head bumped up against something.

_The door…_

He reached up, fumbling around for the latch.

His fingers finally wrapped around it, pulling it…but, of course, nothing happened.

It just clicked.

A hollow, empty click. Like a broken promise.

_It's locked…_

_Of course it's locked…_

_Even these morons are smarter than that…_

He continued to feel around in the dark, his fingers running over the smooth glass of the window and the slightly dimpled paneling of the door, until he finally found the lock.

_Come on…_

He pulled it up, and then quickly pushed the door again.

This time, the _click_ was followed by the reassuring sensation of cold air rushing in at him as the door gently swung open.

He held his breath for a long moment, waiting to hear a shout from the front seat as he was discovered…but nothing happened.

He pushed the door open further, then slowly sat up and set his feet down outside on a carpet of leaves.

The moon was high in the sky, and Lassiter could see by its soft glow that they were somewhere in the woods, surrounded on all sides by nothing by identical-looking trees. He listened for a moment before moving again, certain he heard the sound of distant traffic….somewhere…

_We must be close to the city…_

Slowly, he stood up, not sure his leg would even support his weight.

If inching across the van had been agony, the moment his foot hit the ground was a thousand times worse. It felt like dozens of knives simultaneously stabbing his knee.

He gritted his teeth and pushed off, only managing to take a single step before collapsing to the ground.

It just hurt too much…

He forced himself back to his feet, making it two more steps before falling again.

This almost futile pattern…One step…Collapse…Two steps…Collapse...Rest…One step… Collapse...continued unabated for several minutes.

Until he heard the gunshot.

He was already falling as it rang out across the night. He felt the bullet whiz past his ear, grazing the side of his head just before he hit the ground.

He didn't try to get back up.

He could already hear the frantic running footsteps crunching through the brush behind him, getting closer…closer…

He looked up when he heard the clicking of a gun being cocked above his head.

A surprisingly short, wide-eyed man was standing over him, the gun trembling in his hands.

"That was stupid…" he was muttering, almost as if trying to reassure himself of something. "Really, really stupid…"

He pointed the wavering gun down at Lassiter's temple.

"But, it'll save us time…"


	6. Chapter 6

Chief Vick arrived at the warehouse even before the squad cars.

Juliet was still sitting in her car, her headlights pointed at the building and all her doors securely locked as she drummed nervously on the steering wheel.

When she saw the Chief pull up, she quickly got out and ran up to her.

"Detective O'Hara…what's going on?" Vick demanded.

"I have no idea!"

She had already told the Chief everything she knew over the phone, but she quickly related it again as they walked through the warehouse.

It wasn't much.

A vague phone call, a smashed bottle, a ballpoint pen, Shawn not showing up, and no answer when she called Detective Lassiter.

That was it.

"I sent a couple of units to check out their places," The Chief told her when she finished. "Nothing unusual, no signs of a struggle at either one. But neither of them are home. Are they still not answering their cell phones?"

"No," Juliet shook her head. "I've tried a few more times. I think Carlton said something this afternoon about having dinner with his wife tonight…something about dividing their stuff up."

"Well, that would explain the bottle of scotch…" Vick murmured to herself, her flashlight sweeping over the broken glass. "Dinner with her would drive anyone to drink…but why would he come here?"

"I don't know…he was working on the John Doe case before he left. Maybe he caught a break?"

"Maybe…"

"Shawn told me to bring my gun…he definitely sounded like he knew something was wrong. Maybe Carlton called him or something?"

"Why wouldn't he call you if he caught a break? You're his partner."

"Well…he _had _been drinking…" Juliet pointed out.

"_A lot_, if he willingly called Mr. Spencer…" the Chief added, sighing ambivalently.

They stepped back through the window and waited silently in the parking lot until the squad cars and the crime scene unit finally arrived, neither of them wanting to acknowledge the painful lump in their stomachs that was only growing by the second.

Once the warehouse was abuzz with officers walking through the scene, bagging the glass and dusting for prints, the Chief ducked away to call Lassiter's wife.

She was back only a few minutes later.

"I can't stand that woman…" she muttered at Juliet.

"What did she say?"

"Nothing helpful. They had dinner, fought about CDs and tables, and went their separate ways. She doesn't know where Carlton went after that, and he hadn't been drinking at dinner. He probably hit the bottle the second he got home…I would've…"

"Chief!"

A burly officer stuck his head out the warehouse window.

"I think you're gonna want to see this."

Vick sighed wearily, stepping back through the glass into the now very loud, very bright warehouse.

Juliet was right behind.

"What?" Vick asked.

"Over here."

The officer led them to the far wall, where another officer was on his knees, clawing at a sizable gap between two of the stones.

"What?" She repeated, a testy edge creeping into her voice.

"There's something wedged into the stone here…my light caught it when I was testing for blood residue…I'm trying to get it out…" the second officer answered, concentrating intently, his hand almost completely immersed in the rock. "Ah! Got it!"

He wrenched something out of the wall and handed it to the Chief.

It looked the like battered remains of a small, black cell phone.

"A phone?"

"It looks like Carlton's…" Juliet murmured, her eyes growing wide. "But how did it get in the wall?"

The officer was examining the stones at the base of the wall, his brow wrinkled in bewilderment.

He gently inserted his hand into the gap again.

"It's loose," he said, starting to work it free. "I think there's something behind here."

It only took him a minute to have both of the loose stones pulled out from the rest of the wall, revealing a black hole the seemed to go beneath the warehouse.

"What is it?" Vick asked.

"Looks like a tunnel or a cellar of some kind."

"Can you get down there?"

"I think so," he nodded, grabbing a flashlight that was sitting on the floor nearby.

After only a moment or two of wriggling, he quickly disappeared into the abyss.

A few minutes later, they heard him calling up to them, his voice echoing and distant-sounding.

"Chief! Get an ambulance!"

She knelt by the hole, calling into it.

"What is it?"

His head suddenly popped out of the hole again, dirty and now smeared with blood.

"We got a body down there, Chief. It might already be too late."


	7. Chapter 7

Shawn first became aware he wasn't dead when he heard the sound of a squeaky cart being pushed down a corridor.

Even before his eyes were slowly opening, he was cursing the noise.

_Someone, please oil the damn wheel…_

He could feel his hands traveling to his ears, trying to drown out the grating sound, which was coming closer and closer.

He hadn't even started to think about the pain yet…

All that seemed to matter was that squeaky wheel.

Suddenly, he heard a door shut.

His eyes shot open, still blurry and unfocused.

"Damn wheel…" someone on the other side of the room, standing by the door, was mumbling.

Someone who sounded so familiar…

"Dad?" He asked, trying to sit up, but giving up after the dull but persistent pain in his abdomen became a shooting pain that traveled through his entire body.

Henry walked back over to the bed.

"You'd think a damn hospital could afford to keep their medication cart wheels oiled. I've been listening to that thing come squeaking by every half-hour for the last three hours, Shawn."

"Sorry."

Henry just shook his head, collapsing into a nearby chair.

He looked tired, Shawn couldn't help but notice.

He hadn't shaved, either.

"The cops have been by three times already," Henry told him. "Karen and…that other one. The blonde one. They'll probably be back soon. So I hope you can explain everything."

"Explain what?" Shawn asked weakly, letting his head sink back into the thin pillow. "Right now, I can't even explain why I'm not dead."

"Why the hell you were at a locked-down warehouse crime scene, for one. What happened to Lassiter, for another."

"They haven't found him yet?"

His head was still swimming, the memories still just coming in disjointed bits and pieces.

"No…_And_," Henry added pointedly, glaring at his son, "I hope you can explain why the hell you went down into a tunnel without any back-up. That's just basic police procedure, Shawn. You wait for the damn back-up."

"There wasn't time…" Shawn returned quietly after a moment, his mind finally beginning to work properly again. "I had to find Lassie…"

"And who, exactly, were you planning on finding _you_?" Henry demanded.

"I wasn't expecting to get stabbed with a screwdriver, Dad."

"Of course you weren't!" Henry snapped. "You never _expect_ it, Shawn. But you _plan_ for it! You wait for the damn back-up!"

"Fine!" Shawn shot back, his stomach tensing so painfully it almost knocked his breath out. "Next time, I'll wait for the damn back-up! Will that make you happy…or at least shut up?"

Henry stood up again and stormed to the door, flinging it open and stepping into the hallway.

"Happier than getting a 4 AM phone call that my idiot son is bleeding to death in some tunnel." He growled over his shoulder, then shut the door and was gone.

Shawn groaned as he fell even deeper into the pillow, resting his arm across his eyes and almost blacking out again from the exertion.

A few minutes later, he heard a small sound.

Like someone hesitantly clearing their throat.

He opened his eyes again.

Juliet was standing by the bed, looking down at him.

He did the best he could to smile at her.

"Hey, Jules."

"Hey, Shawn." She smiled palely back, trying her best to sound casual. "How do you feel?"

"Like I got stabbed with a screwdriver. Twice."

She sat down on the edge of the bed, her hand resting on his leg.

"What the heck happened down there?" She asked.

"I don't know...I got stabbed with a screwdriver. Twice. It all happened so fast…how'd you even find me, anyway?"

"Carlton's cell phone. It got wedged in the wall somehow. A crime scene guy found it."

"Lassie's phone…?" Shawn murmured, more of the pieces falling into place in his head. "I had it in my pocket. It must have fallen out…"

"But why was it there to begin with? Why was Carlton there at all?"

"I don't know…" Shawn's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, trying to remember. But his thoughts were still sluggish. "He called me, drunk. He said something about beating me…he cracked a case before I did."

"The John Doe we found at the warehouse?"

"No…no. It was the bank robberies. The ones we've been working on for two months. Three banks robbed without being held up, no one knows how. He said he knew how they did it…it had something to do with the warehouse."

"What?"

"I don't know. Then he said something about blood on the wall…and the line went dead. That's when I called you."

"It had something to do with the bank robbery case…" Juliet repeated, whispering to herself.

Suddenly, her eyes got wide.

"Shawn, we got the I.D. back on the John Doe an hour ago. He had a record, petty larceny stuff, so we got a hit on the finger prints. His name was Dylan Prost. Guess where he worked."

"I don't know."

"First National Bank. The second bank that got robbed."

She stood up and practically ran to the door.

"I've got to tell the Chief! It's a place to start, at least."

She was out the door, but a moment later stuck her head back in.

"I'll be back later."

Then, she spun around again and was gone for real.

Shawn lay completely still for a long minute, staring at the ceiling, trying to clear his mind.

Finally, he sat up.

Slowly.

A wave of dizziness and nausea washed over him.

He braced himself, gritting his teeth against the desire to pass out, and tried again.

Carefully, he put his feet on the floor and stood up.

Each step he took sent a searing jab of pain through his stomach, but he kept going….out his door…down the hall…

He had to stop every few steps at first to catch his breath and make sure he hadn't ripped out his stitches, but he finally got the hang of it.

He only had to look in three rooms before he finally managed to find someone who had left a pile of clothes folded neatly in a chair. They were sound asleep in the bed on the other side of the room.

He quickly grabbed the clothes and headed into the bathroom.

Of course, the pants were two sizes too big and the shirt was so large on him it was laughable, but they would have to do.

He dressed slowly, carefully, and emerged again.

No one stopped him or even looked twice in his direction as he slowly walked out of the hospital and flagged a cab.

When Henry finally went back to Shawn's room about ten minutes later, only to discover it was abandoned, it didn't take him long to figure out what his son was up to.

"Damn it, Shawn." He groaned, grabbing his jacket off the chair and heading out the door again. "Why the hell can't you ever wait for the damn back-up?"


	8. Chapter 8

_I'll be damned if I'm going to let this moron kill me…_

The gun was inches away from Lassiter's head now.

It was still quaking in the short man's grasp.

_I have to have almost eight inches on this guy…_

_I can take him…_

_Even with a busted knee, I can take him…_

He could see the apprehension in the man's eyes, the tension running taut throughout his body.

_He's not going to shoot…_

_He can't…_

Suddenly, his instinct kicked in.

Almost without thinking, Lassiter grabbed up for the gun, his hand closing around the barrel as his uninjured leg shot out, sweeping behind the man and knocking him to the ground.

For a moment, they were both lying flat on their backs, the man still stunned and Lassiter trying to struggle through the pain and get to his feet first.

Finally, he managed to stand up, balancing on his throbbing knee and slowly backing up, the gun leveled at the man, who still hadn't moved.

"You're damn lucky I don't have my cuffs…" he muttered, starting to turn around.

He never saw the tree branch coming at his head, never heard the second man approaching from behind.

It caught him in the chin, tearing through his flesh and sending him sprawling back to the ground, blind and disoriented.

Above him, he could hear the second voice.

"You idiot!" It snapped.

There was the sound of a gun being cocked, but Lassiter didn't hear the shot.

There weren't any sight or sounds at all anymore...

There was just the searing hot pain ripping through his other knee, and then there was nothing.

Nothing…


	9. Chapter 9

Jesse was still lying on his back, stunned, when he heard the gun go off.

He was on his feet a moment later, running to his partner's side.

The cop was on the ground, unconscious again. His skin had turned a pale, ashy color and blood was pouring out of the side of his face and his left knee.

"God," Jesse groaned, almost sick at the sight. "What the hell are you doing?"

Ty just shrugged coolly, tossing the gun back to him.

"I thought maybe you could handle him next time if he had two busted knees.

For God's sake, I left you alone for five minutes!"

"It's not my fault! _You_ said—"

"Shut up. We have to move. Fast. Help me with the money."

They left the cop lying there and went back to the tunnel entrance, where the five duffle bags Ty had brought up were strewn across the ground, apparently abandoned in his haste to nail the cop with the tree branch before he got away.

Jesse grabbed two of them and started to walk back to the van, but stopped when he saw the bloody screwdriver lying in the dirt.

"What's that?" He asked, picking it up.

"That's why we have to beat it out of here. Ran into some trouble down in the tunnel."

"Trouble?" Jesse repeated, his stomach tightening. "Cop trouble?"

Ty shrugged carelessly.

"Probably. Don't worry about it."

Ty glanced over at him, glaring when he saw his hands were trembling.

"Don't start that _now_," he growled. "You're in this as deep as I am."

"I didn't kill anyone...Dylan or Keith…"

"You didn't stop me. That's enough for the D.A. Trust me. You can't turn on me now."

"I'm not going to--"

"Damn right you're not. You know what would happen if you even _thought_ about it."

"Yeah. I know. I was there…"

Jesse swallowed and slowly made his way back to the passenger seat of the van.

"Where are you going?" Ty barked after him.

"What?"

Ty gestured angrily at the cop's inert body.

"Help me get him in the van. We can't leave him here _now._ If they find the tunnel, they'll be here in about five minutes. We have to dump him somewhere else, where they can't connect him to us."

"Fine."

It took longer to dump the cop's body into the back of the van than it had the first time.

When they were done, Jesse's shirt was smeared with blood.

Ty didn't seem to notice his pants were, as well.

"What do we do now?" Jesse asked him as he shut and locked the door again.

"We dump him somewhere they won't find him anytime soon, and get the hell out of here."

"What about the last job?"

"Forget it!"

"Okay…"

Jesse jumped into the passenger seat and buckled up, looking over at Ty, whose face had hardened into a grim mask.

"Where are we going to dump him?"

"Don't worry," Ty smiled slowly. "I know a place."


	10. Chapter 10

As the cab pulled away from the hospital curb, Shawn was already beginning to regret leaving.

By the time he arrived at the warehouse, the painkillers that had been pumping through his IV had almost completely worn off. Every breath he drew was suddenly racked with pain.

"You okay?" The driver asked him as he leaned through the window to pay.

"Yeah," Shawn answered with a weak grin. "Why?"

"You're bleeding all over my car."

Shawn looked down.

Sure enough, the huge shirt was starting to stick to his stomach, damp with blood.

"Sorry," he mumbled, handing the money over and walking away.

Before he took four steps, however, he heard his name being shouted across

the parking lot.

"Shawn!"

He turned around slowly.

Henry was getting out of his truck, storming towards him.

"Dad…"

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?!"

"How'd you know--"

Henry had reached him now.

He put his fingers up to his temple in a mocking impression of the move it had taken Shawn hours of practicing in the mirror to perfect.

"I'm psychic, Shawn." He snapped sarcastically.

"Funny."

Shawn spun on his heel and started to march purposely toward the yellow police tape. He managed to make it look smooth, but it was a much slower motion than it should have been.

Henry overtook him in two quick strides.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" He demanded again, folding his arms across his chest as he blocked Shawn's way.

Shawn just pushed past him, undeterred.

"Well…it's a crime scene, Dad. Heck. Since I'm here, maybe I'll help solve a crime."

"By bleeding to death?"

"I'm fine."

"Clearly," Henry snorted, gently tousling the damp patch on Shawn's shirt.

"And where did you get those ridiculous clothes, anyway? You look like hell."

"I borrowed them."

"The word is _stole_, Shawn."

"I'm going to bring them back."

"Like you brought back my tackle box?"

"Okay…that was fifth grade. You really need to get over it."

Shawn stepped under the police tape, hoping his father didn't notice that he lifted it over his head so he wouldn't have to stoop.

But, of course, Henry Spencer noticed everything.

"Oh, yeah, Kid. You're fine." He muttered under his breath, following his son to the warehouse door.

Shawn turned back around.

"What the hell are _you _doing?"

"Hey. It's a crime scene, Shawn. I guess I'll solve a crime while I wait for you

to bleed out. It's either that or go home and wait for another call from the hospital…"

"You're not a cop. You can't--"

"Neither are you."

"Dad—"

Shawn's head was starting to buzz again, and colorful dots were flickering before his eyes.

Henry just shook his head.

"Shawn, I'm not leaving until you do. You can either stand here and waste the rest of your strength fighting with me about it, which would actually save us both a lot of time, or you can just get a move on and maybe help find Lassiter. Your call."

Their eyes locked, brimming with the same obstinance and fierce determination.

"Fine."

"Fine."

They stepped into the warehouse, which looked completely different in the morning light than it had in the darkness only a few hours ago. There were still some officers milling around. Standing at the entrance to the tunnel on the far side of the warehouse, seemingly in charge for the moment, was Buzz.

When he spotted Shawn from the across the floor, his eyebrows shot up and he blinked in surprise.

"Hey, Buzz." Shawn greeted as casually as possible as he strolled up to the tunnel.

"Uh…" Buzz stammered, clearly in shock. "What…I mean, you…I _saw_…uh…"

"I'm fine."

"You're…umm…bleeding."

Shawn rolled his eyes.

"So I've been told. Look, can I go down in the tunnel? I was getting some pretty strong psychic vibes last time…you know, before I got stabbed…"

"The tunnel?" Buzz hesitated. "The Chief didn't want anyone to go in…there's nothing down there, anyway, now that the ME got the body out."

"Body?"

"Yeah…the body. The other one. Shot in the head, just like the John Doe up here."

"Guess you missed _that_ psychic vibe." Henry muttered from behind.

Shawn glared.

"I was distracted by the screwdriver in my stomach."

His fingers began to twitch. Suddenly, they were clutching at the sides of his head, his eyes squeezing shut.

"Buzz…" he whispered dramatically, his voice actually hoarse from the effort of the performance. "I can feel the spirit…it's still in the tunnel…"

"It is?"

Buzz's eyes were wide.

"It's angry, Buzz…it wants revenge…_revenge…_"

"Revenge?"

"There's only one thing to do…I have to go down there…I have to appease it…"

"Appease it? How?"

Shawn's eyes snapped open again, the trance broken.

"I could tell you, but then the Spirits would have to kill you."

"Oh…"

Buzz stepped aside, his eyes the size of soccer balls.

"Why don't you just…go on down, then…"

Shawn shrugged lightly.

"If you insist…"

He almost blacked out three times in the process, but he finally managed to get through the opening and jump down into the tunnel one more time.

Henry was right behind him.

"Uh—" Buzz stepped between him and tunnel. "You can't--"

Henry glared sharply.

Buzz backed off.

"Never mind."

The tunnel was glowing in the soft light of the electric lanterns the crime scene unit had set up. Shawn made his way between the narrow dirt walls slowly, stepping over the large, vaguely familiar, patch of red-tinted mud.

About fifty yards down the tunnel, they came to another patch of red dirt, though it had long since ceased to be mud.

"This must be where they found the other body." Shawn murmured, his eyes scanning the wall and floor.

"Look," he pointed to some indentations in the dirt a few feet away. Five of them, each less than a half-inch deep. "There was _something_ there…not too heavy…but it must have been there for a little while, at least."

"Yeah. I got that one, too, Shawn…"

Finally, they reached the end of the tunnel.

They emerged out the other side into the sunlight, surrounded on all sides by trees and more of that suddenly all-too-prevalent yellow police tape. More cops were swarming the scene, frantically bagging leaves and rocks. In the midst of it all was Juliet.

"Jules!" Shawn called.

She turned to him.

"Shawn! What the--"

"Don't tell me I'm bleeding. I know I'm bleeding. What's going on here?"

"It's not good." She shook her head. "There was some kind of struggle…it

looks like someone dragged a body to a car or van of some kind…see the tire tracks? They lead back to the highway, but so far no one's been able to find a witness so we don't know which way they went. And we found a bullet. A .38."

Shawn closed his eyes.

"It doesn't mean…" he started, but Juliet waved him off.

"It means we have a lead now. That's all. Anything psychic yet?"

He shook his head.

"Did they I.D. the body in the tunnel?"

"Not yet…it shouldn't take long, though, if they can get a hit on the fingerprints."

"It has something to do with those bank robberies…" Shawn mumbled, his eyes still closed.

"I don't know," Juliet said quietly.

He opened his eyes again quizzically.

"What do you mean?"

"Dylan Prost…he worked at First National Bank, but he couldn't have had anything to do with that robbery."

"Why not?"

"Because I looked at his record. He was in jail that whole night. Rock solid. He got picked up on a drunk and disorderly after he got into a fight at a bar. His third time in two months."

A young officer approached them.

"Detective O'Hara?" He broached quietly. "Call coming over the radio for you."

She left to take it.

"I don't buy it," Shawn mumbled at his father.

"It is a pretty perfect alibi…" Henry agreed. "Too perfect, maybe."

She was back a minute later, her brow furrowed thoughtfully.

"What?" Shawn asked.

"We got an I.D…Keith Jefferson. He worked at Bank of California. He has two priors…guess what the charges were."

"What?"

"Drunk and disorderly…both in the last two months."

"Wasn't Bank of California one of the banks that got robbed?"

Juliet nodded slowly.

"October 21st…the same night Jefferson was picked up for the second time."


	11. Chapter 11

"Here." Ty ordered, bringing the van to a slow stop.

"_Here_?"

Ty glared at Jesse.

"Yes. _Here. _They won't find him here, and if they do there's no way to connect it to us. Do _you_ have a better idea?"

"No…" Jesse shook his head slowly, climbing out of the van and walking to edge of the ravine.

He looked apprehensively down its sloping sides to the inch of mud at the bottom.

"They sure won't find him anytime soon…" he agreed, almost inaudibly.

"Then let's go."

Ty already had the van's back door open. Inside, the cop was still unconscious, lying unmoving in the shallow swamp of blood and dirt that covered the floor.

He didn't stir as they dragged him to the edge of the ravine. He didn't make a sound as they rolled him down the embankment or flinch when he struck the bottom.

For a few tense moments, Ty and Jesse watched him, lying on his back and sinking slowly down into the inch or so of mud…but he remained completely still, oblivious to his own fate.

Finally, Ty walked back to the van, closing the back door and getting back into the driver's seat.

"Come on." He said impatiently. "We have to beat it."

"Yeah…" Jesse agreed with one last pensive look at the cop's body. He could still see his chest slowly, almost hesitantly, rising and falling, but all the blood had drained from his face and his eyes remained closed.

It wouldn't be long now…

"At least they won't find him…" Jesse murmured, almost as if trying to convince himself of something.

* * *

The ground under Shawn's feet was shifting.

He could feel it, moving… rocking…almost like his own private earthquake.

He closed his eyes, fighting to remain conscious.

"Two drunk and disorderlies?" He said to himself, his brain pounding with the effort of thinking.

"But what does it mean?" Juliet asked.

"A bank gets robbed…what are the police going to do first? Look at everyone who works there…of course, if you have an alibi…like being in jail for the night on a drunk and disorderly…they won't look twice at you, especially if you've been picked up more than once on it."

"But they _were_ in jail." Juliet pointed out. "How could they be involved?"

Shawn slowly opened his eyes again.

"They were working together, Jules. At least three of them. Three banks were robbed so far, right? And two of those banks just had employees show up murdered in the same warehouse…employees who had the exact same alibi for the nights their banks were robbed. That's too big a coincidence. They _had_ to be working together."

"But how?"

Juliet's voice suddenly sounded far away.

The colorful dots dancing in front of Shawn's eyes began to grow larger, more intense…

"I don't know…" He pressed on, the pieces finally starting to form a picture in his mind. But it was still fuzzy around the edges…and only growing fuzzier by the moment.

"They must have taken turns. They picked one of their banks, and the one who worked there gave the others everything they needed to break in…security codes, layouts…whatever they needed…and then made sure that they were in jail while others robbed it so they'd be crossed off the suspect list. They must've used the tunnel and the warehouse as a meeting place. There was some kind of disagreement two days ago…probably about money…maybe they were stashing the money in the tunnel…but two of them ended up dead over it."

Juliet was saying something else now, but Shawn couldn't hear what it was over the loud buzzing his ears.

The private earthquake shifted again, and Shawn felt himself stumble…pitch forward…he tried to get his balance back, but it was too late.

The ground suddenly rushed up at his face.


	12. Chapter 12

Only two thoughts were running through Shawn's mind as he slowly drifted back into consciousness.

_God, my head hurts…_

_And why the hell is my wrist so cold?_

He groaned and tried to rub his throbbing temple, but he couldn't lift his right arm more than a few inches off the hard mattress he was laying on.

His eyes shot open.

"What the—?"

He looked down at his right wrist, which had been handcuffed to the guardrail on the hospital bed.

He began to tug fiercely at the cold metal, but it wouldn't give.

_So that's why my wrist is freezing…_

"Actually," a voice from the other side of the room spoke. "Those were my idea."

Shawn glared at his father.

"Handcuffs, Dad? Really?"

Henry was by the bed now, returning Shawn's glower with one of his own.

"Well, after your last little escape stunt, the doctors agreed it was a good idea. You're not going anywhere for a while, Kid."

Shawn was still working at the binds, trying to squeeze his hand through narrow space between the metal and his wrist.

Of course, it was a completely fruitless endeavor.

"I can't believe you still carry handcuffs!" He grumbled, finally giving up. "You haven't been on the force in ten years! Why the hell do you still need…oh, God. Don't even answer that. I don't want to know."

"Don't get smart. And don't bother trying to get them off. You can't. You're sitting this one out, Shawn."

"Dad! I can't! I—"

Henry just waved off his son's protests.

"How the hell did you get in your head that you're the only one with brains around here?" He demanded. "You think you're the only one who can find Lassiter? That cop…the blonde one…she's on top of it."

"You mean Jules?"

Shawn settled back into the bed, finally resigning himself to his inactive fate.

Henry nodded.

"Yeah. That one. She's sharp."

"Yeah," Shawn agreed, smiling faintly to himself.

Henry pretended not to notice.

"She's running a check on the other robbery, seeing if any of the third bank's employees were in on drunk and disorderliness that night. If there's a connection, she'll find it. You got her that far. But playing Fake Psychic Rambo and bleeding to death in the woods isn't going to help anything."

"I didn't bleed to _death_."

"You sure as hell tried to."

Shawn met his father's gaze evenly, defiance smoldering in his eyes.

"You know I can find a way out of these if I try."

Henry just scoffed.

"And you should know that I have the doctor's permission to crack you upside your head if you even try. He said a mild concussion is better than internal hemorrhaging."

Shawn stared at him in disbelief.

"You wouldn't."

Henry crossed his arms sternly.

"Try me."

* * *

"There's blood in the back of your van!" Juliet shouted, pounding the table.

Across from her, the suspect was shaking.

For once in her life, this felt natural.

For once, she didn't even have to think about being Upper-Case Mad.

"It's not my van," the suspect stammered, the blood draining from his face. "It's Ty's. I…I… was just…"

"What?" She snapped. "Along for the ride?"

He nodded, his terrified eyes refusing to look at her.

It hadn't taken long to find them.

Once she knew what she was looking for, it hadn't taken long at all.

There was only one employee at the third bank who had been in jail on a drunk and disorderly the night it was robbed.

Ty Green.

One call to the bank confirmed he hadn't shown up for work that morning.

Within an hour, the State boys had spotted his van outside Santa Barbara and picked him up.

His accomplice, Jesse Smith, was still with him.

They quickly ascertained that he also worked at bank. One that hadn't been robbed…yet.

Neither of them could explain the blood in the back of the van, which they hadn't had a chance to clean up, or the bags of the cash.

But right now, Juliet wasn't interested in the cash.

She only cared about the blood.

She snapped her fingers under Jesse's nose, drawing his gaze back to her.

She knew she had him…

She could crack him…

She _had_ to crack him…

It was the only chance Carlton had. _If _he was even still alive.

_No._ She told herself firmly.

_Don't think if…he's alive…he has to be…_

"Do you know what they do to cop killers?" She demanded.

The suspect's knees were bouncing nervously...up and down, up and down…

His hands were trembling.

He wouldn't hold out much longer…

He couldn't….

"I didn't kill a cop! I don't know anything about any dead cops!" He insisted.

"Then whose blood is in the back of the van?"

"I—"

She could feel the dark, sinister cloud settling over her face.

When she spoke again, her voice was low and threatening.

It almost scared her…but it felt good.

"If we find him and it's too late, there's nothing I can do. If he dies because you sat here and lied to me, you're going down. I will personally bring you down."

For a moment, Juliet thought the suspect was going to be sick. He was shaking his head frantically, moaning incoherently.

Finally, it all came bursting out.

"I didn't do it! I told him not to do it! It was Ty! He shot the cop! But he's not dead! At least…he wasn't…"

Juliet's heart began to pound.

_It might not be too late…_

"Then tell me where he is."


	13. Chapter 13

"If he's down there," Juliet spoke into her radio, "we're going to need a chopper."

Her white knuckles gripped the steering wheel as she followed the patrol car to the ravine where Smith claimed they had dumped Lassiter a few hours ago.

"There's one standing by…if he's there." The Chief's voice crackled back.

The word hung in the air like a heavy fog.

_If…_

_If…_

_If..._

If Smith was telling the truth, and Lassiter had been alive three hours ago…

If he was still alive now…

If they could even find him…

_Not if!_ Juliet told herself again, for the millionth time.

_There is no if…_

When she arrived at the ravine, there were already officers canvassing the bottom, sinking up to their ankles in the thick mud as their lights swept through the muck, seeing absolutely nothing.

She watched the search breathlessly from the precipice, her heart pounding so hard she could almost feel her shirt pulsing.

Finally, the radio in her hand sputtered to life again.

"We got him…"

"Is he—" She started, but couldn't even finish the question.

"…He's alive…barely…" the answer came a moment later. "…barely…"

But Juliet didn't hear the barely.

All she heard was the alive…

All the mattered was the alive.

* * *

"Spencer." 

Shawn groaned, rolling over.

This time, however, he didn't have to look at the clock.

He knew what time it was…

Too damn early in the morning to be getting _another_ call from Lassie…

"Lassie…"

"Shut up, Spencer."

The words were slurred together in an all too familiar, unceasing cadence.

"Are you _drunk_?"

"Not enough."

"God, it was your first day back to work!" Shawn chided, more upset about being woken up than Lassie's drinking habits.

Lassiter just snorted.

"Trust me…after putting up with O'Hara for the day, I've earned a drink or two…or six…God, she won't even let me move! I can't even get my own damn pen without her trying to help! I can take care of myself! It's not like I busted _both_ knees!"

"Actually, you did. You only started walking two days ago."

"Shut up, Spencer. I didn't call to talk about my knees."

"Then why did you call?" Shawn demanded, rolling his eyes with a yawn. "At this ungodly hour…_drunk…again…_"

"Because I beat you."

"Not this again…" Shawn groaned, wishing he had a wall to bang his head against.

"I did. The warehouse….I beat you."

"Judging from your knees, I'd say someone beat you first…"

"Shut up and listen. I cracked it that night at the bar. I had it. Cold. All of it."

"All of it?" Shawn repeated, unable to keep the sarcastic tone out of his voice. "You had _all_ of it?"

"Most of it." Lassiter admitted after a moment, his words coming out faster and more slurred than before. "I remembered the John Doe from the second bank robbery investigation….I knew I'd interviewed him…but I couldn't remember who he was…until I was at the bar. By my fourth scotch, I remembered he was the one who'd been picked up on a drunk and disorderly, which was why I never interviewed him again…just like someone at another one of the banks…from there, on my sixth scotch, it was easy. I didn't have the names, but I figured it out, Spencer. I beat you."

"Okay. Fine. You beat me. Can I please go back to sleep this time? Or do you plan on _actually_ getting murdered tonight? Because I have an early morning tomorrow…I have to be up by 10…"

"I'm not finished." Lassiter snapped.

Shawn sighed loudly.

"Lassie--"

"Did your dad really handcuff you to a hospital bed?" He demanded suddenly, seemingly from left field.

Shawn hadn't seen that one coming…

"_What_?"

Lassie was laughing now.

"You heard me, Spencer."

"No! Who told you _that_?"

"He did."

"Figures." Shawn mumbled bitterly. "Everyone at the precinct probably knows…"

"So?"

"Yes. Fine. My dad handcuffed me to a hospital bed." Shawn admitted flatly. "Are you happy?"

"That's why I called, Spencer."

"To ask me _that_? _That_ couldn't wait until tomorrow?" Shawn shouted.

"No. I had to be drunk when I asked."

"Why?"

Shawn could hear Lassiter's hessitation.

For a long moment, there was silence on the line.

"Why did you have to be drunk?" Shawn demanded again.

When Lassiter finally spoke, it was in a quiet, sullen mumble.

"So…I could…say…thanks, Spencer."

Shawn almost dropped the phone.

Just how much had Lassie had to drink, anyway?

"What?" He asked, certain he had heard wrong.

"I'm not saying it again!" Lassie shouted. "There's not enough scotch on earth for that."

Shawn laughed, despite the early hour.

"Anytime, Lassie."


End file.
